Lock & Key
by Madam Sakamoto
Summary: She was the kind of girl you'd only find if she let you, and the only woman of Sherlock Holmes' acquaintance that he found less irritating than the rest of her fair sex. -Implied Sherlock/OC-
1. Of Cream & Marble Columns

_Partly brought on by another __Sherlock story I read recently, partly brought on by sitting next to _ToraDansu _while we watched the newest episode._

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><p>Tink wasn't the kind of girl you'd bump into on the street and apologize to before you moved on without a backwards glance. She was the kind of girl you'd only find if she let you, and the only woman of Sherlock Holmes' acquaintance that he found less irritating than the rest of her fair sex.<p>

She kept her mouth shut unless it was busy giving information or clarifying instructions, and she never asked stupid questions. Well, not _very _stupid questions, at any rate. They were the sort of stupid questions that Sherlock could endure and, quite frankly, that was saying something.

But the thing Sherlock liked the most about the curious young woman was her uncanny ability to notice what was going on around her with nearly as much clarity as Sherlock himself.

She would state these observations at the oddest of times, her voice always soft and gentle, as though she were explaining something very complicated to someone who might not otherwise understand.

But Sherlock did understand, and he enjoyed the observations she made very much… Especially the observations she made about him.

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><p>It was late, later than Sherlock usually stayed up -at least up and out of his room- and Watson had already disappeared up the stairs.<p>

Tink, covered by a throw and curled up in the couch, watched Sherlock pace out his most recent case across the living room floor.

He had ceased to wonder about her comings and goings, although John insisted on asking how she had entered the premises every time she appeared when the answer was, most obviously, _the front door_. Undoubtedly Tink had made a copy of the key at some point -probably on her own, knowing her- and that was how she could come and go with such ease. That; or she had gotten much better at picking locks. Either theory was possible.

But at the moment she was at rest, her eyelids lowered but not completely shut, and her sapphire gaze trained onto him. "Sherlock."

He glanced at her before returning his gaze back to the floor before him, waiting for the rest of her sentence to follow the partial introduction.

"Have you worn a patch recently, your pupils aren't as dilated as usual."

Sherlock spared her another glance before continuing his track across the floor, frowning slightly. "Not now, Tink, I'm thinking."

"You're always thinking," she countered softly, "so why won't you answer the question?"

He paused for a fraction of a second before he turned back around giving her one of his signature Looks. This particular one was tailor made for Tink alone. It had a twist of affection or respect mingled in with a hint of a warning and a good dollop of _Go Away_. Sherlock liked giving people his Looks, but especially this one and especially to Tink.

"Oh, is that why?" She asked, her eyelids fluttering fully open as she watched him with her full attention. "Because I've been paying more attention to John than to you? Really, Sherlock, I thought we'd gotten past this petty jealousy of yours."

"You sound like my brother." He replied, which was more of an answer than he'd meant to give.

Tink looked slightly victorious as she let her dark eyes wander over his long, thin frame. "Then what would you like me to tell you, Sherlock? That I find you far more handsome than your military companion? Or that yours is the most brilliant mind of the age. I'm sure you've heard both before."

"Tell me something only you could." He replied, half to himself, but he knew she'd heard him. She could hear the sneeze of a microbe a block away. Assuming microbes sneezed at all, which was really a silly notion, and should be forgotten at once.

"Like the fact that your eyes are uneven because there's a fleck of black blooming up from the iris on the right, but no such fleck in the left?" She offered readily, that calm, collected tone of hers slipping easily into place. "Or that I believe them to be the exact shade of blue of an ice-burg? Or perhaps that there really is something very alluring about that creamy column of throat you possess."

Sherlock halted in his pacing at this last sentence. He was aware of both the fleck in his eye and their color, but this last… That had actually managed to catch him off guard. And Tink knew it, because he could see that tiny hint of a smile drifting over her lips.

"Or, perhaps, that when you tilt your head just so the muscles all slip into the proper places and they look as though they might be set in marble, given their perfection."

Sherlock was sure his mouth had slipped open at some point, but he didn't seem able to concentrate long enough to close it, his full attention locked on Tink's pale-skinned face, framed by her long auburn hair.

"Or the fact that when you neglect to do up the top two buttons of your shirt, as you often do, I find myself struggling to concentrate on anything other than that elegant collarbone and pale skin of yours." She tilted her head slightly to one side, her faint smile merely growing. "Is that what you meant when you asked for something that only I could tell you, Sherlock?"

He blinked once, found that it wasn't enough, and blinked twice again in rapid succession. "Yes, Tink, I think that did my request justice." He managed after a moment.

She smiled fully then, slipping up off the couch in one fluid movement, leaving the throw that had been draped about her on the cushions. "Well I'm so glad I could be of assistance to you." She lightly touched her first two fingers to his chin, closing his mouth gently. "Do try to keep thinking, Sherlock, the alternative doesn't do that profile of yours proper justice." And with a small smirk, she was off down the stairs and out the door.

Sherlock took a moment, collected himself, cleared his throat -_creamy column _she'd called it-, and then took up his pacing once again.

Right, where had he been?

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><p><em>I know this may seem a bit far-fetched, but given most people's reactions to him, I can't imagine people compliment him so calmly and bluntly very often. <em>_Also, in case you were wondering, _Tink_ is an alias. Obviously. She's got a full backstory, I'm just too lazy to put that much of it in here. XD_

_This was meant to be a One-Shot, but I might continue it as a collection of moments with Tink and The Boys, if you'd like to see more of it. Let me know what you think, won't you? I do so enjoy reading what you think of my writing._

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><p>Tink <em>belongs to: <em>Madam Sakamoto (_aka_ Me)

All other characters and locations _belong to: _Sir Arthur Conan Doyle


	2. Of Hearths & Heartbeats

_I know some of you commented on me writing more for these two, so I figured I'd give it a shot. This was actually inspired (slightly) by another Sherlock fic entirely. XD_

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><p>Sherlock slipped through the door and up the stairs silently, some small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that it was late, and normal people were in bed already, so he should try not to wake them.<p>

John in particular had become touchy about his sleep schedule lately, complaining that Sherlock would be the death of him if he kept dragging him about the city in the early hours of the morning on wild goose chases. Sherlock had pointed out at the time that they hadn't been chasing geese of any kind, wild or otherwise, and John had actually gone into hysterical laughter before he removed himself from the sitting room and told Sherlock to let him sleep.

And so Sherlock had. He had gone out alone on the cold winter evening to chase down a vital piece of evidence for their latest case, and was likely to stay up for the rest of the evening pondering over it with the assistance of several nicotine patches and perhaps a direct dose of caffeine into his bloodstream. Merely to keep him awake, of course, he had no other need of such a stimulant.

But as he moved through the door into his flat and took in the sight that greeted him, he froze on the threshold and all thoughts of patches and pots of coffee instantly left his head due to what was by the fire, waiting for him.

In the normal course of events, Sherlock would have dismissed the redhead's presence and continued on into the kitchen to see to his current experiment, but this situation was not normal. Yes, Tink did often drop by without warning, and she'd been known on several occasions to wait up for him when John had already abandoned his post and gone to bed, but this… This was unusual for a reason Sherlock couldn't quite define.

She was lying on his hearth rug, the fireplace cleaned of debris and housing an actually warm flame for once, curled in a throw that had come from who-knew-where with her eyes closed and her entire form completely at ease.

Almost as though she'd heard his surprise from across the room, her lips parted in an almost smile and she spoke. "It's a fireplace, Sherlock," her eyes stayed closed but it was clear she was fully awake, "it would therefor follow that one should build a fire in it."

"Functions of fireplaces aside, I do not understand the appeal of lying so close to a fire in such a position." He defended automatically, gaze not leaving her peaceful features.

"Well perhaps if you stopped standing there like a gloomy vulture and instead came to join me, you would have a better grasp on its appeal." She cracked an eye open and grinned up at him. "Elementary, my dear Holmes."

He blinked, a bit surprised by the phrase, and tugged at his coat and scarf as he thought it over. It was a chilly night, even inside the solid 221b Baker Street building, and sitting by the fire for a few minutes while his body got back the feeling in his fingertips would admittedly be quite nice. "There would be the problem of one of us only being able to be next to the fire at a time."

"I think you'll find I'm perfectly capable of sharing. So stop stalling, Sherlock, I won't leave the invitation open all night." She rolled over, turning to face the golden flames, and Sherlock knew instantly that if he lay down behind her, her back would still be warm.

So that was what he did. The rug was a little stiff, but Tink had spread out several blankets under where she was lying to cushion her shoulders and hips, and it was actually less uncomfortable then Sherlock would have imagined. He tentatively tucked his fingers into the folds of the blanket on her back and suppressed the need to sigh as the cold started to seep out of his skin.

"See?" Tink commented mildly. "It's not so bad, is it?"

Sherlock decided the best thing to do would be keep his mouth shut and silently admit defeat. She was right, of course, it was nice to lay there for a moment and do nothing but enjoy the dancing colors and soft song of the fire.

Almost absently, he noticed his breathing had slowed to fall in time with Tink's and he felt his lips twitch upward as she shifted away and then rolled over, sinking her fire-warmed hands under his blazer to burn molten trails across his cold shirt. He flinched visibly, caught off guard by the sudden motion, and Tink grinned.

"Honestly, Sherlock, ten seconds ago we were having a moment. Stop acting so standoffish." She looked up at him, her expression somewhere between peeved and playful. "Your case can wait until the morning." He opened his mouth, ready to point out that it already _was_ morning, as the clock above them on the mantle indicated, but she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It can wait till _dawn_."

He frowned slightly, but he made no attempts to pull away or make a mad dash to the kitchen and the experiment he'd neglected all day. Just once, while no one else was around, he could let his mind work while the rest of him rested a little.

An appendage, after all, could only function properly if it underwent equal parts of both action and apathy.

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><p><em>I would appreciate it if you kept any comments about Sherlock being OOC to yourself. I tried, people, but there's only so much I can do with the man and still keep him perfectly in character at all times. *le sigh*<em>

_Also! For those of you who know Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original work, you might be able to catch the reference in there. _^_^_  
><em>


	3. Of Stars & Solar Systems

_We recently started watching back through all of these again, and I just couldn't resist. There's something about Sherlock that just makes me itch to right for him... So I do. XD_

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><p>Blue eyes gazed up into a darkening sky, watching as the stars slowly came out one by one into the evening sky. They sparkled and glimmered as they began to peek out of the dark dome above her. The girl hummed softly to herself as she picked out certain planets amid the other small, splendid celestial bodies.<p>

Footsteps sounded softly across the roof toward where she was sitting and she smiled as she spoke, not even having to turn around to see who it was. "I always found it interesting that even this close to the heart of the city; you can still see the stars. I did always enjoy watching the stars… I'm not entirely sure why, though."

Sherlock sat next to her on the shingles and gave a non-committal hum in the back of his throat. "I can't imagine why vast collections of gas floating through space are so captivating to you." He commented softly. "When you break them down in a scientific…"

"Don't." She cut him off with a Look. "Don't you dare reduce my glimmering diamonds in a sea of velvet to the basest scientific calculations." She returned her attention to the sky above them and sighed softly. "I had enough of that in school, thank you; I do not need it from a man who didn't even know that the earth goes around the sun."

Sherlock was about to reprimand her, ice blue eyes meeting ones of a darker shade, but he caught the quirk in her lips and stopped himself. "Your continued insistence that they are _diamonds_ is ridiculous. They are balls of gas floating in the void of outer space, not cut gems dancing about in an ocean of deepest velvet."

Tink raised her eyebrows at him, blinking. "My, my, Sherlock, aren't you eloquent tonight?" She teased gently, watching him tug his coat more tightly around him and glare up into the sky. "What brought you up here, anyway? It's not like you to retreat out into the elements often."

"Mycroft wanted to check up on me." He commented softly, and that was all he needed to say.

Tink knew that if he were here, John could say that he'd gone out and he didn't know when the consulting detective would be back. Mycroft would inevitably give up and go home, and then Sherlock could retreat back into his lair. "Ah, I see." She chuckled. "Sneaky of you, Sherlock."

He gave her a slight smile, a mere flickering of the expression across his lips, and then returned his attention to the sky. "Yes, well, Mycroft can get rather bothersome at times." He sat there in silence for a moment, the city humming around them as the night settled in and the sun finally faded into the west. "I don't suppose you know any of the names of these stars of yours, do you?" He asked after a pause, when voices could be heard in the flat below them.

"Well that one there is Sirius." She nodded towards the brightly flickering star. "I can always spot that one… I would have thought you might know a few yourself, Sherlock."

"Oh, no, no room for planetary matters in my mind when there's so much other useful information I'd rather put into my hard-drive."

"Does that include things about supernovas, because even I have to admit that was quite impressive to pull out of thin air the way you did." She smiled slightly, watching him straighten up as he sat next to her, his posture reflecting how pleased he was about that. "Or is that why you're suddenly so interested? Thinking of broadening your area of knowledge to include the solar system as well?"

"I hardly think that's necessary." He replied; eyes still trained heavenward as the world continued to pass them by in the streets below. "But I am admittedly a little curious."

"You're always curious, Sherlock." She added without missing a beat. "So stop pretending you actually care and just admit the only reason you're up here is to avoid having to see your brother and admit you want to help him."

"I do not want to…"

"You are _bored_, Sherlock Holmes." She told him plainly, turning to direct her gaze his way. "Otherwise you would be downstairs fiddling with your chemistry set and making deductions like you always do. So please stop pretending."

Sherlock turned to look at her as they heard a door below them close and the voices stop. He smiled, a bright, inviting smile, and hurried to his feet. "Come along, Tink, I want to see how you make that marvelous lock-breaking powder of yours. You don't mind sharing, do you?"

She quickly followed him back across the roof, giving him a flat look. "I do mind, as it happens, but I don't see the harm in making you some for your own personal store." She eyed him suspiciously, shaking her head. "So help me, I will get you to learn a star or two before I'm finished with you."

Sherlock turned, pausing and pointing up into the sky. "Well, that one's Sirius." He glanced over at her and smirked, earning him a roll of her eyes and a nudge from her elbow into his ribs.

"Oh, very funny." She grumbled, stalking back over to the edge of the roof before she turned around and smiled at him. "But good job, at least you remembered one."

Sherlock waited until she had vanished over the edge of the roof and then glanced back up into the sky, catching sight of all the stars he knew the names of, smiling to himself over the fact. "Funny indeed…"

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><p><em>Sneaky Sherlock is sneaky indeed.<em>


	4. Of Memories & Margaritas

_This time, we feature everyone's favorite doctor!_

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><p>"Here, drink this." A wide mouthed glass was presented to him, the drink inside a toxic green in hue. "It'll help."<p>

John didn't want to know what Tink was doing at the Baker Street flat at four in the morning, but he wasn't about to start complaining about her sudden appearance. "It's alcohol." He pronounced flatly after a moment's consideration of the liquid he now held.

"Look at you, making such magnificent deductions." She teased gently, settling onto the sofa next to him with her own drink. "Yes, John, that is an alcoholic beverage. And if you drink it, it will help." She gently clinked the edge of her glass to his, winking before she took a sip.

John sniffed at it suspiciously before he took a sip as well, and let the cool liquid slide down his throat. "Wow." He mumbled, staring at the vibrant liquid. "That's… Wow."

She winked at him, sipping again at her margarita. "Mhm, I know. Don't get too attached, though, this is from my private store. Sherlock doesn't keep these sorts of things lying around. Too much of a temptation." She smiled slightly, glancing back into the depths of her sugar-rimmed glass. "So, war memories?" She asked softly.

Watson flinched visibly, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Yeah." He muttered, not looking at her. "Yeah, I thought they'd stopped, but apparently… Apparently not."

"Well drink up, my dear doctor, there's more where this came from." She toasted him with a tip of her glass and drank deeply.

"I thought you said I shouldn't get used to this." He pointed out, thankful for a change in subject.

"Oh, well, I think I can make an exception just this once." She tipped her head to one side, considering him for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to stay up with you getting drunk and pointedly _not_ talking about it?"

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "You're the first person to ever offer me that…" He took another gulp, downing the last of his drink, and smiled at her softly. "I'd like that. Staying up with you, I mean."

Tink smiled brightly, nodding. "I'll just bring the shaker in here, then." She put her glass on the coffee table and quickly moved into the kitchen, scooping up the shaker and bringing it back into the den. She refilled John's glass, topped off her own, and then set down the shaker. "So, what would you like to talk about?" She asked softly, settling back onto the couch.

"How do you know Sherlock?" He asked after another sip. "He doesn't really have friends, so…" He trailed off, quirking his eyebrows together.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, only the _difficult _questions with you, huh?" She winced. "How _do_ I know Sherlock…? He helped me out with a little spot of trouble a few years ago. I never really left him alone after that." She chuckled. "He never complained, so I never stopped."

John's eyebrows rose slowly up his forehead as he took another swig. "Really? Just like that?"

"What? It's a legitimate excuse. It's not like you ever let him get under _your_ skin." She snorted softly, draining her glass. "What surprises you about it so much?"

"Nothing, really, it's just… odd, I suppose, to think of someone besides me putting up with him." He chuckled. "So what, did you follow him around for a few days, or something?"

"A week." She corrected with a grin. "He nearly lost me once or twice, but I was too good for him."

"Really? You kept up with him?" John was openly staring, a smile tugging at his lips. "How?"

"I asked Mrs. Hudson who was helping with her husband's case." She replied with a shrug, smiling.

John laughed, tipping his head back and carefully keeping his drink level. "How, _on earth_, do you know Mrs. Hudson?" He asked once he had calmed back down, shaking his head.

Tink shrugged. "It's my business to know people, that's all. Mrs. Hudson actually knew my mother, once upon a time, so it really is all just some great coincidence that Sherlock and I met." She shrugged, draining her glass and setting it on the table by the shaker. "Another?"

"Yes, please." John shifted forward to hold out his glass, smiling when she topped it up. "So, why margaritas?" He asked, hoping she wouldn't mind the shift in subject and the still blatant avoidance of why he was up this late in the first place when Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

She grinned as she took another sip. "Mm, I learned it from this one barkeep that was helping me with a little job I had set up at the time. Man could mix them like nobody else. Told me I'd have to learn how to mix them as well as he could before I could leave." She poured herself another half glass and looked at him, deep blue eyes calculating as they looked him over. "Why aren't you trying to get back to bed? It's terribly late, you know."

"Maybe I like the company." He shrugged, looking down into his glass to avoid her gaze. "Maybe I _don't_ like the idea of more bad dreams and memories." He smiled and sent her a shy look, suddenly realizing that she was taking time out of whatever mission had brought her to the house this late in order to cheer him up. "Or, maybe, I like the way you mix a margarita."

She giggled at that, eyes dancing with glee as she held up her glass to him in a toast. "Now that, Doctor John Watson, is what I like to hear."

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><p><em>Again, we were watching Sherlock, and this idea just came to me, so I ran with it. Don't get used to the frequent updates, they might not last long. <em>_But yes, I will be adding to this story in little increments whenever the Sherlock Bug bites... And at the moment, it is voracious._

_And yes, I know a margarita is an odd drink for John to just be casually sipping away, but when it's made with tequila, I think he's more likely to enjoy the effects of alcohol that strong than wonder what people will think of him for drinking from a sugar-rimmed glass. Besides, he's way too polite to refuse an offered drink from someone like Tink, anyway. XD  
><em>


	5. Of Presents & Personal Touches

_This was supposed to come out near Christmas, but it got devoured by my hard-drive until I found it again._

_So. Here you go. ^_^_

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><p>"It is an <em>insipid <em>holiday." Sherlock pronounced as he stood by the window and looked out over the snow-laced street like a moody vulture in silvery blue silk. "_Christmas_." He shuddered theatrically and drew the curtains shut again with a quick tug, turning back around to face the room and folding his arms over his dressing gown. "Remind me again why we're celebrating it?"

"Because you made a right cock-up of it last year?" John offered, bringing a tray of cookies (honest-to-God_ cookies _bakedin the_ oven_) into the living room and putting them on the coffee table by the fireplace (which was currently housing an honest-to-God _fire_).

Sherlock plopped into a chair by the fire, snatched up a hapless gingerbread man and snapped off his head, munching in order to give his mouth something to do besides complain.

John wondered if maybe Sherlock pictured that gingerbread as him, and the poor thing was taking a bullet for him right now. What a true comrade-in-arms that gingerbread man was.

Tink appeared in the doorway to the kitchen (her snowflake pajamas not quite _Christmassy_ but certainly _wintery_), carrying a tray with mugs on it and rolled her eyes at the gloomy Sherlock. "Stop looking like Mycroft stole your chemistry set. It's _Christmas_, Sherlock, have a little cheer." She set the tray by the cookies and handed off a mug of tea to John before offering Sherlock a carefully non-Christmassy mug of coffee. "Extra caffeine, just for you."

He took it without comment and tried a sip before nodding silently and returning his gaze to the fire.

John was still amazed that Sherlock had agreed to this whole plan, even if it had taken both him and Tink pestering the detective for the better part of a month before he finally caved and consented to the whole ordeal. Some small part of the doctor still imagined Tink's assurances that he could stay in his pajamas for the whole day had helped sway the brunette round to their side. Not that John would ever actually say that, of course.

"C'mon, cheer up or I'll make you play Father Christmas first." Tink threatened, sitting on the floor by the fire and motioning John to take the free seat. Sherlock sent her a moody glare before he shot her a bright, fake smile and buried his nose in his mug once more. She snorted and reached for the small pile of presents, rolling her eyes. "Fair enough."

John would be lying if he said that he wasn't excited over the prospect of getting presents this year. It made it all the more special because this year, they had agreed that the presents needed to mean something to the person who was getting them, so one present each to another person, and they all ended up with two presents. A nice, comfortable number, he thought.

Tink had had all the logistics of the affair worked out long before she broached the idea with Sherlock, and in the face of such a logical approach to said _"insipid holiday"_, he could hardly refuse. Well, not after the first five times, at any rate. She picked up the top present, checking the nametag before she passed it to John with a smile. The next she plopped into her lap, and the third she tossed to Sherlock who caught it with ease.

The detective gave it an experimental shake before he glanced between the other two and then returned his gaze to the emerald green wrapping paper and the golden snowflakes that dotted the surface. He started to open it, and almost as though they had been waiting for that as a sign of permission, the other two began opening theirs as well.

John's was from Sherlock, and was a small, moleskin notebook to replace the one he had nearly filled with notes from previous cases. Typical Sherlock, giving him something sensible. He wouldn't have expected anything from his flat-mate if he hadn't known Tink had threatened the detective into getting _actual_ presents for the two of them.

Tink popped open the one from Sherlock and grinned hugely, opening up the little leather sleeve to display the lock picks inside. "Oh, Sherlock, you shouldn't have!" She teased, plucking one up and holding it experimentally.

"Oh, don't." The detective grumbled. "No phony sentimentality." He opened the box from Tink and stared at the contents, blinking repeatedly before he pulled the glass slides from inside the case, turning them over in his hands. "Are these…?"

"They are." Tink replied promptly, a rather pleased smirk on her lips. "Thought you might like them."

John looked between the two of them, deciding he had missed something, and chose not to ask. There was no point in trying to understand little quirks between people like them.

Sherlock nodded once, put it aside, and returned to hiding in his mug.

Tink decided, since she was closest to the presents anyway, that she would give out the last of the presents anyway. She handed her boys their other boxes and then plopped hers into her lap.

John had no idea what Tink had gotten him, but he felt a little flutter of anxiety over her opening the present from him, and Sherlock opening his at the same time.

Thankfully, Tink got to hers before Sherlock did, and John watched anxiously as she pulled the soft blue material from the confines of the box.

Tink's eyes lit up as she unfolded the sweater, giggling as she held it up against her. "John, it's beautiful!" She looked up at him, eyes made even brighter by the blue of the sweater. "Thank you!"

He inclined his head, feeling his cheeks warm, and dove into the box he was holding. He recoiled slightly when his fingers found soft cloth, because he hadn't been expecting it. He pulled the scarf out and smiled, realizing that Tink had knitted it herself. It was dark blue with gray shot through it, the pattern woven into the scarf. "Thank you." He managed softly.

Sherlock finished unwrapping his present and pulled the hat from the box, instantly glaring at the doctor. "John."

"Sherlock?"

"Not funny."

"Hilarious!" Tink interjected, toppling over, giggling. "Oh, please put it on! Take a picture with me in my new sweater!" She grinned at him, winking. "It'll just stay between us, I promise!"

Sherlock threw her a dirty look, and shoved the hat back into the box, snatching up another cookie and biting into it viciously.

This time, John knew the gingerbread man was taking a bullet for him.


	6. Of Marble & Titanium

_Spoilers for Season 3 of Sherlock_

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><p>John had never seen Tink shake.<p>

Her shoulders, hands, knees, all were twitching uncontrollably. Her blue eyes were wide, her hair half-tumbled down her back, one shoe missing completely.

"Tink." Sherlock was sitting in front of her, trying to get her attention. She was staring off into space, somewhere just past his left ear.

"Drink this." John offered her a short glass of amber liquid. "It'll help."

She downed the brandy in one gulp, letting out a soft wince as it went down.

"Tink." Sherlock repeated, reaching out slowly to touch the tips of his fingers to the back of her hand.

"Is he dead?" She asked, not looking at him. "Just tell me that."

"He's dead." Sherlock replied calmly. "I can promise you that."

"But you're not." She finally let her gaze drift onto him. "You clever boy."

Sherlock gave her a quick smile, taking her hand. "I'm not."

She breathed in deeply, holding it for a beat before she let it out again, the shaking easing slightly. "Good."

John felt the instant need to look her over, make sure she really was alright. He wanted to be sure that everything was perfectly alright. "Tink?"

"Can I have another?" She asked, offering him the glass back. "Please?"

He took it and shuffled back to where he'd left the bottle, filling it for her a second time. "Are you alright?"

"I am now." She replied, downing the drink just as quickly the second time around. "Are you?"

"Yes." John nodded hurriedly, not wanting her to worry. "Yes, we're fine."

She nodded, kicking off her other shoe and relaxing into the couch. She pulled her hair the rest of the way down and ran her fingers through it, trying to tidy herself up in the only way she knew how at the moment.

"Did he take anything from you?" Sherlock asked after a pause, not quite meeting her eye.

"He tried." She replied softly, looking into her empty glass. "But the things I hold most dear are made of marble and titanium. They are indestructible." She looked up in time to catch Sherlock's eye, and the detective went very still.

John watched the exchange and felt something warm flood into his stomach. "Tink…?"

"I should be getting home." She stood, picking up her shoe, but John caught her before she made it to the door.

"No, no, hold on. You're not going out there like this." He shook his head to clear it, too many thoughts and worries flitting through it at once. "Stay here tonight."

"Yes, no need to kick you out right away." Sherlock interjected quietly from by the window. "Stay."

Tink floundered for a moment, but John took her by the elbow and started to guide her toward the stairs. "Come on, I'll get you to bed."

"Thank you." She whispered, following him up the stairs. "For everything."

"Don't mention it." He replied, smiling. "Your marble is terrible at saying thank you, though, so don't expect anything from him."

She looked at him, smiling brightly. "But my titanium makes up for it in spades."

John felt heat start to flood his cheeks and dipped his head. "I'm not…"

"You're stronger than you think." She interjected quickly. "You're the core that keeps the marble intact." She turned on her heel and hurried up the last few stairs, leaving him in the stairwell with a warm face and a light heart.

* * *

><p><em>Oh the feels!<em>


End file.
